


so forced a relinquishment

by KatherineRose2000



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Broken Engagement, Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatherineRose2000/pseuds/KatherineRose2000
Summary: Lady Russell did not so much as glance back as she strode majestically out of sight, and he was left alone in the empty, echoing parlor.Frederick Wentworth had been turned away.
Relationships: Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	so forced a relinquishment

~~~

“I apologize, Miss Elliot will not be seeing any visitors today.” 

“Then tell her I will call tomorrow.”

“You may be sure I will.” Lady Russell did not so much as glance back as she strode majestically out of sight, and he was left alone in the empty, echoing parlor. 

Frederick Wentworth had been turned away.

He was, however, undeterred, and on the morrow returned punctually and at the usual hour to walk with Anne undetected in the garden. If Anne would send him away he was determined that she should do it herself, and he could not, for any reason, believe that she would. Theirs was as one heart, one mind, one soul. One dream for the future that was just on the horizon.

Yes, Frederick Wentworth’s confidence in Anne Elliot was unwavering, despite the blatant disapproval of him by her godmother and the dismissive hauter of her family. The sweetness of her temper and genuine, modest good nature shone through her like clear glass; and she was strong in character, not so weak as her mild manner might deceive those less perceptive into believing. Therefore, on seeing her descend the long flight of staircase, pale and drooping, he was immediately in action with all that agility and decisiveness hallmark to his nature.

“Anne! What is the matter? Here,” he practically lifted her with arm about her waist and hauled her down the rest of the way. He laid her gently onto a sofa; she would not look at him, she would not speak, no matter how much he desired it, she would not.

“Anne, dearest, tell me what on earth has happened! I cannot bear it.” The anguish in her countenance seemed to deepen at that in his voice.

“Frederick… Mr. Wentworth.”

“Mr. Wentworth?” he laughed anxiously. “Have we returned to such formality, my love? Darling, tell me what has happened to make you so ill. You are not really ill though?” The question was asked with such heartfelt terror that a tear slipped down her cheek unbidden. _“Anne!”_ He embraced her, calling her an hundred different tender names, and this she could bear little better, and had no choice (nor any desire) but to let him hold her.

“No, Frederick, I am not ill, there is nothing the matter with me,” she tried to quell his fears with some small avail.

“Then tell me what it is,” he answered, quieting as he kept her in the circle of his arms, and soothed a hand over her dark hair. She faltered.

A noise drifted it’s way from above; a swish of silken skirts, and Anne’s demeanor changed instantly; she trembled, appeared ashen, almost grey, and sat upright. Frederick looked toward the noise.

“Frederick, you must listen to me…” (turning and taking his hands in hers,) “you must try to understand.” She spoke slowly and pleadingly, and a sense of dread began to take form in him. 

“Anne?” 

Tears gleamed in her eyes. _“Frederick.”_

He shot up out of his seat. “No! You will not say it, whatever it is, for I can see it in your face.”

“Frederick, listen to me, I beg you.”

He hastened towards her in agitation, in supplication. “Anne, whatever you are to say, put it out of mind. Look at me, Anne. Say nothing but that you love me.” He was before her, on his knees, at her mercy, and yet still with a confidence that he must prevail, that he must convince her before the words were spoken.

She looked down into his eyes with more tears, pity and sorrow, and he was in agonies. “I love you.” In it he knew a moment’s relief. “But, oh Frederick, I cannot _marry_ you!” she cried.

At this he was put to silence. As dead of movement, of life, as he had never been before. Frederick Wentworth was a man in constant motion, one way or another; the strange hardness that took to his features made Anne afraid for him.

After a long, horrible moment, he stood, all forced deliberation and control; but not without untempered bitterness. “I see. I see that I have been badly used indeed. I thought you unwavering in your faithfulness--”

“You must allow me to explain,” she rose weakly out of her seat as if he would leave, but he did not. He looked on at her, angrily, coldly, never as he had done before. Anne knew she must deserve it.

“Then explain.” 

“I... I must do it,” she said, with all her manifest conviction of right-doing, “for you.”

The thinly veiled agitation returned fully to him. He laughed in an unpleasant manner that made her cringe. “For me? You beg cry off for _me?_ How is this!”

“You must understand - you will never be able to become what you are destined to be if you are constantly worrying over my well-being. My thought will be the shackle around your ankles, hindering you from all progress and that which you would become otherwise. You love” (she stumbled here) “too strongly to care for it now, but I cannot become such to you…not when I could prevent it.”

“Anne,” he said, coming toward her again with a harsh, vital glow about him, “where has this come from, surely not from you.” 

After a pause, she uttered: “Lady Russell spoke to me.” And seeing the look on his face, said, “Oh, you must not be angry with her! She only wants what is best for me, and I only want what is best for you.”

“Lady Russell,” he returned, “does not want you marrying so low to a sailor with little evidential prospects. But I will make something of myself, Anne, do not doubt it. Very soon I will have success.”

Anne (not truthfully being able to defend her godmother against this attack) looked away, and said, “I have never doubted that you will succeed...but this was not her only point against our union: she believes I am too young, that I have seen too little of the world. But you must know I would never have agreed unless I thought it was what was in your best interest. In this I have thought of none else _but_ you! How could I when my own happiness is so clearly being torn from me? She convinced me beyond a doubt, beyond what I could, under good conscience, reason away for my own gain.”

“Why must you sacrifice your own happiness? Why mine? You _are_ my best interest!” And taking her by the arms: “Listen to me, Anne. Lady Russell cannot know. She cannot know, locked up and lonely as she is, what is between us. However much I abhor,” (Anne gasped) “yes, abhor her for wanting to take away my heart’s dearest wish, I am certain she cares for you. But it is not a wholly unselfish love. She needs you, as you no longer need her.” At her pained turning away, he cried, “Anne, do not be so cruel, do not withdraw from me!”

And Lady Russell, perceiving them and drawn to the scene by the noise and scattering of servants in the house, happened upon them just at the moment to see Frederick kiss Anne savagely, and for her to return it. 

She gasped, _“Anne!”_ And Anne, having now perceived _her_ , was sure fit to swoon. Frederick supported her and kept her tightly to him, uncaring of Lady Russell’s presence. 

“Anne,” he bade urgently, “do not make me leave. Say the word and I shall not leave you. I will not do it. Say it. Tell me not to leave, Anne.”

Lady Russell advanced upon them. Anne looked between the two straining faces above her. “I… I…” 

Her beloved's face staring down into hers, desperate and wild, forced her already tested resolution to sway like a sailboat in a mighty storm; but Lady Russell loomed large behind. She must remember duty. Not for her family, not for herself, but for Lady Russell, who was like a second mother, and for Frederick.

“Forgive me,” was her last plea.

He released her and stepped away. 

With a heart utterly confused, shocked as if by cold sea water, and reduced to tatters, Frederick Wentworth hardened himself. His contempt was sealed. He cast a glance upon the mastermind behind his betrayal, and then turned to the object of it. For one instance he regarded her, and then quit Kellynch Hall.

In all it was the work of perhaps five minutes. All the time needed to destroy what promised to be the crowning felicity of Frederick Wentworth’s thus-far fortunate and happy life. A mere moment in the span of time was all it had taken to unravel and mistrust himself to every tender word and glance and touch that had promised, so truthfully, a perfect resolution. A moment to deliver him his first real, and greatest, defeat.

Anne had given him up. She was weak. She had been persuaded against him, and for this he could not forgive her.

After eight years and a half, he still had not forgiven her.  
  


~~~

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing for Persuasion! It got intense, phew!
> 
> Wentworth is such a passionate guy in the book; it's really very sad to imagine a young, freshly disappointed version (although I tried my best). In all honesty I think he might get even more worked up than this, but there's only so much I can handle before I get emotionally drained! Poor Anne!


End file.
